Quiet Hour
by Karen Hart
Summary: Xenosaga II and thus a bit of spoilage. A quiet moment with MOMO and Juli as they head to Fifth Jerusalem. Comments appreciated.


**Quiet Hour**

By Karen Hart

_Disclaimer: In no way do I own any part of the Xenosaga series. I write these fanfictions for love of the game, and make no money off of them.

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Warm breath frosted against the glass and slowly vanished, unnoticed, a moment later. MOMO was pressed against the ship's window, watching as the scenery outside changed. Beige and orange and blue and pink whirled by, the colors of hyperspace, fascinating in a forbidden way. A person could almost want to reach out and touch those colors, but the price for that action would be far too high. They darkened to purple and black and more pink and blue, twisting and molding into a strange, mangled kind of rainbow, and then, in a split second, turned to complete black, white pinpoints dotted throughout the dark expanse.

MOMO pulled herself back from the window, the view no longer fascinating, and slouched down in the chair. This would be the first of several column jumps to her mother's home—her new home!—on the orbital tower over Fifth Jerusalem, the thought of which gave her no small amount of happiness (her mother wanted her), anticipation (she'd only rarely seen her mother's apartment), and a tiny bit of fear (what if this didn't work out?). She quickly rejected that last feeling. This _would_ work out. They would be happy together.

Or at least content.

A soft sound interrupted her thoughts, breaking through the silence that she had until then not registered, despite her sensors. It was breathing, she realized, the sleeper's steady rhythm, and smiled softly, knowing full well who it was; there were only two people in that part of the ship, after all. MOMO turned around in her seat, and peered over the back.

Juli Mizrahi slept soundly, a Connection Gear in her lap, left hand curled around the device, right hand resting by her side. The screen flickered a moment later then thinned and vanished from view, to conserve some small bit of power. MOMO wondered what she'd been looking at, though she had a suspicion that whatever it was had been fairly dull.

_She looks different when she's asleep_, the little realian noticed. While she wouldn't go so far as to say that her mother looked like an angel, she _did_ look rather more relaxed, her usual guarded expression softened by unconsciousness. _She looks younger,_ MOMO realized, quietly turning around and slipping out of her seat, her intentions to shut off and move the Connection Gear and either cover Juli up or suggest that she sleep in one of the cabin's beds. She _couldn't_ be comfortable like that, after all. The first part was simple enough, the small device slipping easily from Juli's grasp. Waking up her up, just to send her back to sleep on the other hand…

_What if she can't fall asleep again? What if she's comfortable enough here? Maybe I should just cover her up._ Childlike anxieties built up inside of her, halting her actions. So she stood there a moment, frozen, hand extended just slightly, waiting for a decision. _…Just the blanket,_ she thought a moment later, and made for one of the cabin's built in cabinets. She really _didn't_ want to wake her mother up.

And then it was back to the window again, and the ebony-and -needle-tip view, though it hardly stimulated her interest—after all, in a space-faring culture the novelty of outer space wore off a bit. Not to mention that she was a little…

She started, a moment later, sucking in a surprised gasp as a hand gently—uncertainly—shook her shoulder. "It's 23:15. We should both be in a bed." MOMO blinked, slightly disoriented, and then pushed herself upwards, gold eyes locking onto hazel. She nodded.

"Night Mommy," she murmured, blearily navigating her way to one of the beds, and slipping beneath the covers. "Love you," she added, looking back at Juli, who did not echo the words. But the look on her face was softer and even if she didn't claim she loved the little realian, there was budding acceptance and willingness in her expression, and maybe that was enough.

"Good night, MOMO."


End file.
